Page 46 of The One-Night Heist

Interesting choice of words, Moneybags.

“Whatever you say, Giano, because I’m at a loss.” Franz sighed again and glanced around. “Anyway, Agent Markel said he needed a statement from me on the worth of the paintings…”

My ears perked up at that, because I did wonder how much the collection was worth—pre-scandal—but then Markel himself reappeared, like a bad rash, to stop me from asking.

“So what’s your expert opinion on all this, Quincy?”

I removed my gloves then pointed a bare finger at the nearest frame, just to make him grimace at the threat of compromised evidence. “I think someone should question the thief who took the bronze sculpture from The Andervelt.”

Markel opened and closed his mouth a few times, delightfully caught off guard. “W-why would we do that?”

He makes this so easy.

I scoffed. “You don’t think it feels targeted—or at the very least, awfully coincidental—that first a sculpture on loan from the Luxford family was stolen, closely followed by this?”

Even if I hadn’t known the truth, it would have been a weak theory, since the tourist who’d already been picked up for The Andervelt crime had obviously done it on a dare for a cheap thrill. Unfortunately for the FBI, I lived to waste their time.

And who doesn’t love a red herring?

“I… will look into that,” Agent Markel said, because of course, he was now going to take credit for my idea. “Any lead we can follow keeps the case active, since Mr. Luxford here has been adamant about us not questioning the guests from his recent party.”

Giano nodded solemnly. “Treating guests of that caliber as suspects will not go over well, I’m afraid. Besides, everyone who attended the viewing party could have easily afforded to purchase the art at auction, so I fail to see any clear motive there.”

Well done.

I could feel Franz’s eyes on me until Markel pulled him away for a statement, and then Little Miss Supermodel made a show of making herself scarce, leaving me alone with Giano once again.

And my thoughts.

I wanted so badly to take Giano at his word that there was nothing going on between him and Anastasia Bosco, but it was complicated. While a part of me did believe him, my ridiculously possessive reaction to the entire situation reminded me I needed to stay vigilant about not blurring the lines with this job any more than I already had.

It’s. Just. Business.

“When can I see you again?” he murmured, invading my space again. “I need to⁠—”

“I need to work, Mr. Luxford,” I bluntly replied, causing him to step backward in surprise. “You have my card. Feel free to contact me about anything related to the case.”

And nothing else.

Please.

With that, I turned my back, tamping down any emotion that could distract me as I joined the nearest group of agents to debrief, forcing myself not to look back at the man I’d left behind.

Fifteen

Giancarlo

It had been three whole days since I’d last seen Rowen, since he’d brushed off my attempts to talk about anything other than business, and barely responded to my messages since then.

I felt like I was dying.

Granted, we’d agreed ahead of time that communication between us should be minimal in the days following the heist—even with disappearing, encrypted messages—but I needed to clear the air.

With how platonic Ana and I were, it hadn’t occurred to me that I should warn him about her. She was such a staple of my social life at this point, I hadn’t considered how it might look to an outsider seeing nothing but paparazzi photos scrutinizing our relationship.

Our fake relationship.

If Rowen would simply agree to meet in person, then I could better explain who she was to me, and who she wasn’t.